"You been
monkeyin' around that codfish again."
"What smells?" demanded the mate, poking his nose out of his
room.
"That tainted wealth I picked up at sea," shouted a voice from
the dock, and turning, Scraggs and McGuffey observed Mr. Gibney
standing on a stringer smiling at them.
"Gib, my _dear_ boy," quavered Captain Scraggs, "you can't mean
to say you've unloaded them gosh-awful codfish----"
"No, not yet--but soon, Scraggsy, old tarpot."
Captain Scraggs removed his near-Panama hat, cast it on the deck,
and pranced upon it in a terrible rage.
"I won't receive your rotten freight, you scum of the docks," he
raved. "You'll run me outer house an' home with that horrible
stuff."
"Oh, you'll freight it for me, all right," the commodore retorted
blithely. "Or I'll libel your old stern-wheel packet for you.
I've paid the freight in advance an' I got the receipt."
Captain Scraggs was on the verge of tears. "But, Gib! My _dear_
boy! This freight'll foul the _Victor_ up for a month o'
Fridays--_an' I just took out a passenger license!_"
"I'm sorry, Scraggsy, but business is business. You've took my
money an' you got to perform.
Pages:
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373